


On the Starchaser

by Beastrage



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Big Brother Shiro (Voltron), Ficlets, Gen, Non-Chronological, Now with more Matt Holt!, Post-Season 2, Rebels, Season 2 spoliers, Shiro (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Shiro gets some much needed comfort, Shiro the memer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-18 04:58:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10609749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beastrage/pseuds/Beastrage
Summary: Alternative title: How Shiro gets himself Adopted by Wild Space Rebels and Takes a Break(With some added Angst and Chaos for flavoring.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the various ideas on Tumblr, that all really come out to one thing: let the poor guy have a break.

“Shiro. Shiroshiroshiro. SHIRO!”

Shiro wakes up, suddenly, a young voice shouting his ear.

The perpetrator smiles happily at him, blue eyes bright. “Good, you’re up!” She bounces, beckoning at him with a small hand. “Come on, Shiro, there’s a lot to do today!”

Shiro sits up, smiling after her. “Sure. Just wait a bit, okay?”

The human girl beams, long red hair framing her face. “I’ll wait for you, Shiro. Promise!”

 _And that’s all I need, Moth,_ Shiro thinks.

_Thank you._

* * *

 

“Are you a Blade?”

Immediately after blurting this out, Shiro regrets it. _Stupid, stupid, not every rebel Galra is a Blade...and what if Rekior is a spy?_

Rekior looks at the human, pupiless yellow eyes somehow conveying curiosity. Interest.

“A Blade? I did not know that the Blade had allowed non-Galra to know of them now.”

“You know about them, then,” Shiro says, Galra hand tapping on the ground. “But you’re not one of them?”

Rekior flicks his clawless hand at Shiro. “Indeed, I am not.” He looks back down at the datapad in his lap, saying nothing more, fingers tapping at the screen. A clear dismissal.

But Shiro’s own curiosity had been aroused now, a curiosity that had driven him to the stars. “I thought the Blade of Marmora was...”

“Paranoid and rightly so? Rigid? Set in tradition? Not all Galra who disagree with the Empire throw their lot in with the Blade.” Rekior wrinkles his nose, seemingly disgusted at the thought.

“Surely you did not think the Blade were _all_ of the Galra rebels in existence, _Champion._ ”

Shiro wisely says nothing in response to that. His fingers tap out a familiar beat, a pattern he barely recalls from his time in the arena.

Carefully, he parses through the Galra’s words, the bitterness underneath. “They rejected you.”

Hands pause, and Rekior’s eyes tighten at the corners. “They deemed that my...history made me unsuited for their ranks. I...agreed,” he grits out. The Galra stands, towering over Shiro as he turns and walks away.

The human stares after him. _What history?_

But Shiro suspects he knows, or at least has an idea, of what sort of history would keep Rekior out of the Blade.

He’s only seen clawless Galra one place in the Empire, after all.

* * *

 

Shiro pants, bent over as he gasps for breath.

“Good going, everyone, those _merkah_ will think twice before they challenge us again.”

Shiro closes his eyes, flashes of light and memory behind his lids. His Galra hand tightens into a fist, tight enough he can almost hear the metal grinding.

His breaths are loud in his ears.

“-iro? Shiro, what’s going on? He’s not responding.”  
“-coming.”

There is dripping. Shiro just _knows_ if he looks, it’ll be blood. Red blood, blue blood, any blood, dripping off his hands.

_You were going to be our greatest weapon!_

He remembers, blade swinging as he cuts off alien limbs. Screaming, begging for mercy, where there is none to be had. Screams of pain, but most of all, the cheers.

The crowd cheering for their pet monster.

As he-

“Shiro!” He feels hands, large furry hands on his shoulders. Fur up against his face, soft instead of rough, but it’s _touching_ him.

Blindly, Shiro swings an arm. _The_ arm, alight and hot. The smell of burning flesh is in his nose and he can hear something grunt as he hits it. But whatever it is, it _won’t let go_.

“Shiro. Shiro, can you hear me?”

That voice, he knows that voice.

“Where are you? Tell me, where are you right now?”

“The...arena.” He can see it so clearly, the stands full of spectators, the guards taking bets on the side, the bodies being dragged away after another bout. The blood in the sand.

The fur against his face moves, a hot gust of air ruffling his hair. “Alright. But am I there, in the arena? Can you see me, talking?”

“...No.” No, the voice’s owner is not in the arena. Where is he, then?

“Shiro, who am I? Do you remember?”

Shiro slowly lifts up his eyelids, surrounded by red-orange fur. Long bushy fur, soft against his skin. He looks up and up, towards rounded slit pupils in pools of bronze. Long ears twitch back and forth, upright and straight above a canine-humanoid face.

“Kasai,” the young man breathes.

Kasai’s ears lower gradually as the Yoka heaves out another hot breath. “That’s right. You here now?”

Lowering his head, so he doesn’t have to meet those worried eyes, Shiro mumbles, “...Imsorry.”

“Nope. You’re fine. Come here.” Kasai carefully wraps his arms around the much smaller human, hefting Shiro up in his arms. Cradling the still shaking body, with small gasps stirring through his neck fur gently.

The Yoka grunts slightly as Shiro shifts his weight, inadvertently digging into a wound with his elbow. The human freezes, only eyes moving as he follows the long, thin burn across Kasai’s chest.

Shiro swallows. “I...”

“Fool me, letting a kit like you hit me right there, where my fur’s thin.” Kasai’s chest shakes, a rumbling laugh building in it. “Or did you forget that my fur keeps fire out?”

“I still hurt you,” Shiro argues weakly, his body starting to shake again.

“It’ll be gone before the next cycle.” Warm furry arms wrap tighter, acting like a blanket.

Not reassured but not sure what else to do, Shiro lays his head against a furry shoulder. He can hear Kasai’s heartbeat, a long steady thumping.

Loud enough to overcome long ago cheers and shouts.

Loud enough to remember a warm blanket placed over him and a hand running through his hair. _Takashi, this is how much I love you_.

And just for a moment, Takashi Shirogane remembers the warm, instead of the cold.

* * *

 

Every day, without fail, Shiro wakes to find a strange being curled up on top of him.

A two-legged humanoid that doesn’t even come up to his knee. It snaps and taps its clearly visible bones at him, red fire eyes glowing with vindictive glee. No face, but instead a mask, pale white like bone, a crude fanged grin painted underneath the eyeholes.

Every day, Shiro wakes to the creature on his bed, peeking at him from under a floppy yellow hat. Once it catches his attention, it always climbs away on the walls, claws digging into the metal.

“Can anyone explain to me, what this is?” Shiro asks, twig creature dangling off his uplifted arm.

Kasai glances up from his morning meal. “Ah, you found Rags.”

“I think he likes you,” Moth whispers, eying said lifeform happily climbing all over Shiro.

* * *

They find the human in space. Floating there, no clear signs of how it got there.

A mystery.

Mysteries meant surprises, and surprises, as everyone knows, are usually nothing good.

“We should get rid of it.” Rekior, surprisingly, is the first to speak up, of the three.

“One vote for shooting the completely helpless lifeform to die in cold, unforgiving space, then,” Icoci snipes, folding zer limbs over zer midsection.

Rekior bristles, purple fur standing on end. “Look, that is no ‘helpless lifeform’. That is the Champion!”

Everyone looks at the human. Its white hair tuft moves ever so slightly back and forth as it breathes. Its face is calm, emotionless in its unnatural sleep, marred only by a scar across the nose-bridge.

“...I thought the Champion was, you know, bigger.” Kasai leans over, sniffing at the human.

“They usually are,” Rekior explains, fingers twitching nervously, “But Mis- _Haggar_ took an interest...once the last Champion fell to it.”

Kasai’s ears fold back against his head. “This _tiny thing_ killed a Champion?”

“I find _that_...actually not beyond comprehension,” Icoci admits, stepping back slightly away from the human. Ze pull zer fins in, closer to zer main body mass.

“How?” Kasai gestures at the body.

Icoci’s fish globe eyes somehow manage to communicate a sense of disdain. “Moth?”

At the reminder of their youngest (and smallest) member, Kasai rasps, running his tongue against the back of his fangs. “Oh. Yeah, Moth would definitely be fierce enough.”

“But not all humans are the same,” Rekior points out, drawing closer where Icori backs away. He nudges the body with a foot, towards the airlock. “We need to get rid of it, before...”

“This is about Haggar, is it not?” Icoci says, suddenly understanding. “But if she could track the Champion, she would be here already.”

Rekior nibbles at his fingers, blood dripping down his chin. “If you say so...”

“We’re keeping it,” Kasai decides, lifting up the body to carry over his shoulder. “Moth’ll be happy to see another one of her kind.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you...” Rekior mumbles, as the Galra retreats back to his datapad, in attempt to escape the situation.

“Oh come on, what’s the worse that could happen?”

* * *

 

“I wanna blow up the ship reactor!” Moth shouts, arms waving around above her head.

“No, you cannot...oh, look Shiro! Ask him about blowing it up.” Icoci spreads a fin at Shiro, desperately attempting to redirect Moth’s attention. Xe flees in the opposite direction as the little girl turns towards her fellow human.

Moth is off like a shot, a tiny cannonball launching herself at her unsuspecting target.

Direct hit, to the midsection!

“Ooof.” Shiro holds his stomach, looking down at the redhead. “Moth, you’re too big to do that.”

“No, you’re too tiny. I can do it with Kasai just fine,” Moth pouts, hands behind her back, as she sways side to side.

“Well, Kasai is an oversized, taller than a Galra fox-man. I’m...squishier.”

Moth tilts her head, eyes huge. “What’s a fox?”

“Er...” A hand goes behind his head, as Shiro searches his mind for a way to answer that question. That didn’t involve things like comparing it to a dog, or saying a four-legged mammal.

“Is it another Earth thing? I wanna know!” Moth launches herself once more, clambering onto Shiro, trying to get him to hold her. “Earth sounds so... _big!”_

Shiro laughs slightly, at her enthusiasm. “Well, I’ll try to tell you all I can.”

Moth, for a moment, stops squirming. Allowing Shiro to get a better grip, Galra arm supporting her bottom, other arm around her back. She draws close to his ear, whispering, “I’m happy I met you. You’re like a big brother, the best big brother.”

Shiro, recalling another human face, of purple eyes looking up eagerly at him, smiles. A little sad, a little happy.

“I’m happy I met you too, Moth.”

* * *

 

A yellow fin-tip, tracing along the cosmos displayed before the two of them.

“We are...right here. Next to this nebula. Rumors of Voltron...”

The fin withdraws and another different fin (one of six) spreads to point at some other far point in the universe. “Places activity here. But I would not personally rely on that. Those rumors could be quintents old, if not even older.”

Shiro sighs, looking out at the holographic stars surrounding him. “That’s fine. Thanks, Icoci.”

He reaches out, to the ‘Voltron activity spot’, fingers going through shimmering star systems and galaxies to touch it.

 _They need me_.

A hesitant fin lays on Shiro’s shoulder. “Do not worry. We will find them.”

* * *

 

Nightmares come more often than dreamless sleep, these nights.

It’s always a toss-up, what will come up this time.

Tonight, the nightmares have decided to bring up the entirely possible deaths of his teammates.

Lions shot down from the sky, burning like falling stars. Blood, too much lost to live, all over the ground, a body too still, too cold.

Hands reaching, begging for him to save them.

But he can’t. He’s always too slow, always trapped. Watching helplessly, as they die. One by one. Keith, Pidge, Allura, Lance, Hunk, Coran...they all die. Horribly. Terribly.

Flames creep cl-

His body jolts into half-awakeness, feeling a new weight dropping down on him. The response is instinctive. Reactive.

Shiro attacks, Galra arm a glowing blurr, swiping at the darkness.

The weight chitters and somehow manages to dodge the attack. Two glowing red lights turn in his direction, ember lights in empty sockets.

Shiro doesn’t exactly relax, but his shoulders loosen slightly, as he props himself upright.

“Rags?” The word/name feels funny in his mouth. “You...don’t do that.”

Rags huffs, wooden fingers tapping unhappily on the wall. It pointedly lifts its head up and away from him, putting a figurative nose in the air.

“You’re already dead wood. Now you’re just asking to be made into firewood.”  
A dismissive hand, paired with two distinctive clicks coming from behind the mask. Rags gestures at Shiro, pointing first at the human, then at the bed. Repeatedly.

“I’m good.” Shiro sits up a little further, ready to start his day. Not to attempt more sleep, risking more nightmares.

Rags shakes its head, clicking unhappily. It crawls closer, off Shiro’s legs onto his chest. Its weight presses him down onto the blankets. Its claws carefully comb through his hair as Rags presses its head against his neck.

A humming, that comes through Rag’s entire body, some wordless alien song. A lullaby, perhaps. The tune is repeated over and over again until the young man falls asleep to the pattern.

His sleep is dreamless, this time.

* * *

 

Rekior winces at the sound of laserfire, even placed as he is out of sight. Worriedly, he glances down at the bloody human in his lap.

“Champion...are you conscious?” The Galra tries, tapping at the human’s helmet. The helmet of the paladin armor the Champion insisted on wearing every time he was out in the field, thankfully still whole (mostly) even after soaking up such a large hit.

A quiet groan, shifting in his lap as the Champion moves his head ever so slightly, that’s all Rekior has to go on, that the human is alive, if not well.

Rekior resists the urge to bite at his fingers, to nibble at the claws he no longer has. He can’t afford to lose focus now. Not with the Champion so hurt, his replacement arm sparking, innards exposed for all to see. "Merk," the Galra curses, once he's taken a closer and longer look at the damage done.

The quintessence that serves as blood falls in a steady stream from shattered metal. Too much lost and the Champion will lose all remaining function in it. And that’s not counting all the other wounds the human has, red blood smeared on white armor.

Three facts that Rekior knows.

  1. He needs to get the human out of here.
  2. There is a reactor that still needs to be destroyed.
  3. The laserfire must cease before he can complete either task.



There is only one escape for the both of them, alive, that Rekior can see.

“I’m sorry, Shiro,” the former druid apologizes, upheld hand full of purple-black lightning.

He slams the hand down, hard, onto Shiro’s chest.


	2. Chapter 2

The healer looks up from Shiro’s body. “How did he become so damaged?” Long thin fingers trace out the wounds, barely stopped bleeding. 

“Here, and here...he should be dead. There’s also signs of ligh-”

The healer stops. Pauses and takes a closer look at the figure who had brought her latest patient. Tall, purple, yellow eyes...

“Perhaps there is another place you can go?” The healer suggests, standing up from where’s she been squatting next to Shiro.

The Galra  _ snarls, _ yellow eyes burning. The healer pales, shrinking back from the obviously enraged Galra. Rekior prowls forward in turn, his nose nearly brushing against her forehead. 

“You  _ will _ fix him. Or suffer the consequences.”

* * *

 

Madu, Shiro decides, is the living embodiment of a party animal.

She’s the most human-looking alien among the rebels he’s met, though with goat horns and Altean ears. Also the most perky, in a way that reminds him of Lance. 

She’s always grinning, always throwing her head back in laughter.

Their first meeting, she offers him a flask. “Hey, you look like you need a smile. Wanna a sip?”

It’s been a year, longer than, since Shiro’s had any alcohol. He’s never been incredibly fond of it, but he figures,  _ you’ve survived alien abduction, robot lions, evil emperors and Coran’s cooking. Might as well try alcohol poisoning next.  _

He accepts with a nod. Madu grins, tossing him the flask. 

The first sip is fruity. The second more sour. The third...

Well, Shiro doesn’t quite remember what else happened before waking up on the floor to people shouting above him.

“Can you  _ try  _ not to drug my people, for once?”

“So what, he’s  _ yours _ now?”

“Not the point. The point is you  _ drugged  _ him.”

“How was I supposed to know humans respond badly to-?”

“Merk. He’s waking up.”   
Madu totters into view. “Sooooo, human, Shiro, whatever-it-is, feelings?”

Ugh. His head is pounding. Everything’s slightly fuzzy, including Madu. Shiro  _ thinks  _ he might be dying (again), but that’s nothing new. “The closest to heaven I’ll ever be.”

Madu blinks, before smiling again. “Dunno what’s a heaven, but I think he just made a joke.”

“Merk, no.” Kasai groans, hitting his head against the wall with a solid thunk. “No more jokes.”

Madu peers at Shiro little more closely. “Do you feel any other side-effects, like something’s eating through your flesh to burst out of your stomach wall?”

Shiro blinks. “That sounded oddly specific.”

Madu waves a hand. “You’ll be fine. See, Burner? He’s fine.”

“I said don’t call me that,” Kasai growls.

“ _ Burner.” _

In the middle of the upheaval, in the middle of growling and some punching, Shiro decides he should probably pass out again.

And he does.

* * *

 

“...That’s new.”

“Really.”

“I can’t get it off!”

“You sure you want it off? Rags looks pretty comfortable...”

Rags hisses and rattles at the gathering crowd from its new perch. 

The top of Shiro’s head. 

Kasai’s ears twitch. “Claimed you, I think.”

“You mean Shiro’s Rags’ favorite buddy?” Moth looks way too interested in this, eyes wide as she looks up at Kasai. 

Shiro shakes his head, to no avail. Rags only hisses again, crouching even closer to the human’s skull. “Guys, this isn’t funny!”

“Consider this payback for the bar incident, Champion,” Rekior informs him, walking away.

The Galra’s exit finally prompts the rest of the crew to gradually break off to their assigned tasks.

Leaving only Moth behind, giggling at Shiro.

Shiro can only shrug helplessly. “Help?”

* * *

 

“I do not know about this.” Icoci flicks out zer fins uncertainly. 

“Come on, you can do it,” Shiro urges. 

“Show me again?” Icoci poses, body twisting around and fins flipping upward. 

The human does a strange jerking motion, bringing his arms up, one in front of his face and the other stretched out at an angle. 

“...and this is a victory pose, among your people?” 

Shiro nods solemnly. 

Slowly, Icoci stretches out zer fins to the furthest length. The Xaquo carefully mimics the human’s position. “Hmm...this ‘dabbing’ is very interesting, indeed.”

* * *

 

“I can fight! I am a paladin of Voltron, I’ve fought before in the arena!” Shiro shouts, fists clenched by his side. His Galra arm hums to life, to a barely glowing magenta. 

Kasai snarls, towering over the human, neck fur on end. The nano-tattoos on his arms glow an electric red. “You shouldn’t have to!”

Shiro freezes. Kasai takes this as a sign to continue. “You are so  _ young.  _ You shouldn’t have to fight in this war, fight this scum,” The Yoka sighs, his ears held out to the side unhappily. 

“I know you  _ must  _ fight, have fought before...but this time, I am here to protect you.”

_ So let me protect you, _ are the unspoken words.

* * *

 

“Our newest member, huh?” Madu smirks over the top of her glass. Her dark eyes watch Shiro awkwardly making his way through the crowd, shoved back and forth by aliens of all shapes and sizes. “Reminds me a lot of th-”

“No further, Madu. No. Further.” 

“Whatever you say, Rekior,” Madu giggles, downing her green drink in a single gulp. She brushes at her hair, careful to keep it behind her spiral horns. “You need to loosen up. Kick off those boots every once in a cycle.”

The Galra taps on the countertop, yellow eyes keeping a careful eye out for any guards. 

“ _ Someone  _ needs to make sure the _ human _ doesn’t give us away.”

Madu waves a lazy hand at the party surrounding them. “Relax. This sector is  _ ripe  _ for upheaval. Been here for cycles and everyone’s saying the same thing.”   
She leans in closer, nearly nose-to-nose with Rekior. “That the Galra need to be  _ overthrown. _ That  _ Voltron is coming. _ ”

Rekior jerks at that. “Voltron?” 

Madu leans back once more, smiling slyly. “Ah, that got your attention?”

About then, the thrumming music in the background is interrupted by shouting. An argument starting up on the floor. 

Madu glances in the direction of the ruckus. “Hey, isn’t that your human?”

Rekior looks as well. Sure enough, the Champion is standing right in front of an angry native species. Tiny against his opponent’s huge bulk, but the Champion looks ready to fight anyway.

“Uh. I’ll be back.”

* * *

 

“I think,” Shiro starts solemnly, hands steepled on the ‘planning table’. “Our next target should be... Rekior. He needs some glitter in his life.”

Moth almost dances at the thought of the stern Galra covered in pink and red ‘glitter’.  “Only if we get to do Boss-leader-guy next!”

“Deal.”

* * *

 

“Sometimes I feel as if this cell is filled with  _ hatchlings _ ,” Icoci groans. Xer fins are out, wrapped around xer lithe body. Xe watch in horror as Kasai chugs a  _ barrel  _ of stolen  _ Galra alcohol  _ on a dare from Madu. Something about discovering the strength and flammability of the drink, judged on Yoka standards? Moth cheers in the background while Rags does a victory dance, both encouraging Kasai to keep going.

Icoci can just picture the cost of burn damages now...xe  _ do not  _ whimper at the thought.

Really, not at all. Anyone who says differently is lying. 

Shiro pats the Xaquo sympathetically on the back. “I know  _ exactly  _ how you feel.”

* * *

 

“-and I’m the head.”

Madu pauses, head turned towards Shiro. “No, really. What do you do?”

Shiro smiles. “I’m the head.”

“Stop saying that!” Madu puts her glass down on the table, electing to point at the human with the newly freed hand. She is not drunk enough to be dealing with this. 

“What? You want me to stop saying I’m the head?”

“Yes!” Madu howls, pulling at her hair. “I wanted your  _ duties _ , not some list of robot body parts! Anything else your team does?”

Shiro considers this. “...Hunk’s a leg.”

“Okay, that’s  _ it.” _

(Resulting bar fight gets both Shiro and Madu banned for life. And arrested. Rekior isn’t pleased, when he comes to pay bail later. 

“I will kill anyone mentioning body parts of any sort,” Madu informs the Galra drily. 

The Galra only shakes his head. “...alright then.”

Everyone agrees to blame the drinking and Does Not Ask.)


	3. Chapter 3

“Ah. So this is where you’ve been hiding,  _ Champion, _ ” The Galra commander sneers. “Hand him over, and I will let you live to serve the Empire.”

“Back off, merkah.” Kasai bares his fangs. 

“In that color scheme? Not in ten thousand years,” Madu says, dramatically flinging back her hair.

“And I suppose we’ll live comfortably, once we surrender to you,” Icoci flips out a fin. “Really.”   
“No,” Rekior says simply, arms folded over his chest. Moth and Rags say nothing, voting only to shoot vehement glares at the enemy commander. Shar flicks an ear and shakes her head. 

They all stand in front of an injured, shaking Shiro, shielding him the best they can.

“No,” Kasai growls, “We’ll die first, before you take him.”

“I see you’ve made your choice. Open fire!”

* * *

 

“Remember, no irritating this group. Got no sense of humor,” Kasai debriefs the rest of the team, flipping through the images on the datapad. Images of big burly space pirates, each with a corresponding wanted poster, a list of their crimes underneath.

“Can you even read any of that?”

“No. Any more questions?” Kasai grins, dropping the datapad. The resultant clattering is loud enough to wake the dead. Rekior starts, his head shooting up from its previously drooping position over the debriefing table. “None? Great.” The Yoka leaves the room, a bounce in his step. Seeing how normally only impending violence excites Kasai, this, as one might guess, is not the best of signs for the upcoming meeting.

“We are all going to die,” Icoci shares in an undertone. Zer fins are folded away, out of sight, out of mind. Icoci just looks smaller in general, all curled up from nervousness. 

“Twenty GAC on Kasai ‘accidently’ setting their ship on fire.” Madu holds up the money in hand, showcasing the coins dramatically. “Any takers?”

Shiro, once more, wonders how the heck he fell in among these people. Oh yeah, that’s right, a fight with the emperor of (most of) the known universe. “I’ll take that bet.”

“You sure, Shiro?” Moth whispers, “Kasai gets angry super fast.”

“Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen?”

(Madu gloats almost unbearably for  _ weeks  _ afterward, with Shiro’s GAC in her purse. Apparently, the entire set-up had been a Galra Trap. Kasai had never set a ship on fire so fast in his life.)

* * *

 

“Wanna trade for cleaning the engines?” Moth chirps, peeking carefully around the corner. 

Shiro considers it. “Only if you take dish duty and the briefing room.”

Moth sticks out her hand. “Deal!”

The paladin carefully shakes it. Moth’s forehead wrinkles, as she slowly pulls her hand away. “What’d you do  _ that  _ for?”

“On Earth, we shake hands,” Shiro says, a bit confused himself. If she wasn’t going for a handshake, then what...?

“I thought humans did this?” The little girl spits on her hand and holds it out again. “Touch?”

“Er...” He hesitantly puts his own hand out again, and Moth slaps at his metal palm vigorously. Spit flies everywhere.

“There!” She says happily, grinning broadly. “Jobs traded!”

“...okay.”

_ I wonder who taught her that... _

* * *

 

Shiro waves his right hand in a circular movement. Gesturing to the entire ship hallway, laser burns on the walls, crates full of all sorts of goods, suspicious-looking floor stains.  “Are you pirates? Or rebels?”

“Yes,” Rekior says flatly, not even bothering to look up from his datapad. 

The human sighs, putting his face in his hands. “...not very helpful.”

“Shiro! Can you carry the grenade crates over to one of the smuggling holds?” Icoci uses zer entire body to shift one of the huge boxes ever so slightly. “We need to hide these before the next patrol comes.”

“You’re smugglers?” 

Rekior’s fingers twitch. The pad creaks slightly in a tightening grip. “Yes.”

With another sigh, Shiro gets up and carries the box Icoci pointed out earlier away.

Icoci watches him leave, fins flat against zer body. “Why do you not just tell him?”

The Galra flicks at the screen, turning another page. “That we’re all three? I did.”

* * *

 

“You look like an Altean,” Shiro says quietly, from his spot next to Madu.

Madu’s very Altean-looking ears shift ever so slightly. “You know Alteans?”

Shiro thinks back, to Allura and Coran, quite possibly the last Alteans in the universe. Of how sometimes he would catch Allura wistfully looking out at the stars, back on the Castle. Of Coran forever trying to repair the last remaining piece of his family. Of that look on both Coran’s and Allura’s faces when they learned their homeworld was gone, destroyed forever ten thousand years ago. No knowledge of what had happened to their people, but that fate was all too easy to guess. Unless... “I know two.”

Madu takes a long draught from her flask, silently thinking over her next words for once in her life. “You know,” she starts, lowering her flask to her waist, to hook it onto her belt, “The oldest stories say my people came from the stars, fleeing great evil. Maybe Alteans were among them.” 

Her fingers trace along her horns, growing up along the bridge of her nose, over her forehead. “What about these? Alteans have capridia?” 

“No. But they’re shapeshifters. They could.” Shiro supports his head with his hands, elbows on the table. Almost hopeful, looking at the Bacchan, searching for lost Alteans in her words. 

_ Stars,  _ Madu can’t help but think,  _ he’s so young. Too young for this war.  _

“Look, I don’t know very much, old goats kicked me out before I got really into the tales...but I’ll tell you what I know. Maybe us Bacchan have a little Altean blood somewhere.”

Shiro nods eagerly, leaning in closer. 

Madu licks her lips, wishing for another drink. “First there were the Stars, friend and foe...”

* * *

 

Rags does more than just sleep on Shiro.

A week after their first encounter, the little creature starts bringing the human food. Small slices of fruit, of energy bars, swiped from the galley. Once it even carries in a huge breast of some alien fowl, plopping the meat right in front of Shiro. 

Moth sulks. “Rags never gets me food,” she whines, throwing herself dramatically on the table. 

Kasai is less than sympathetic. “Well,” he says, ears twisting in poorly concealed humor, “You’re not Rag’s favorite.”

The thing is, Shiro doesn’t really mind. Okay, the situation’s a little embarrassing, looking down at a nudge at his ankle to see Rags carrying some new tibet. But every time, looking down at that same food, Shiro is surprised to find that he’s hungry. 

Hungry enough to always eat what Rags brings him. 

The creature always puffs up proudly when Shiro eats its offering. The first couple times, when the human tried to reject the snack, Rags just gave him a Look. A Look that persisted until Shiro gave in, stomach grumbling unhappily. 

So yeah, Shiro doesn’t mind. His mind feels clearer than before. And if he doesn’t remember to eat, his body not telling him...Rags is there to tell him instead.

* * *

 

“Did you know him?” Madu asks. 

Rekior opens his eyes, lifting his head from its resting spot on the wall behind him. “Did I know who?”

The Bacchan rubs her fingers along her capridia. “Shiro said he knew a Galra named Ulaz, that set him free.” 

“I didn’t know everyone in the Empire,” Rekior reminds her gently, “I most likely know a whole lot less now, with the rate the Emperor goes through his generals.”

“Yes, but Ulaz was apparently a surgeon. Surgeons don’t disappear so fast.” Madu taps her fingers on the wall, other hand twitching at her belt. 

“Did I work with him, you mean.” The Galra closes his eyes, turning away from Madu, before opening them again. Yellow, just like every other Galra. “Madu, I don’t remember a lot from those days. I don’t  _ wish  _ to remember.”

“Just try,” The Bacchan almost pleads, “The kid needs  _ some  _ answers.”

Rekior’s gaze hardens. “Does he? He might be better off without them. Stars know that _ I _ would be better off not knowing...”

“Would you really?” 

“You, who drinks herself into the void every night, lecturing me about thinking not recalling is better?” Rekior almost laughs.

Madu’s lips quirk, almost a smirk, as she tilts her head in admission. “True. But Shiro wants to know.”  _ Wants to discover what happened to him, as Champion _ , are the words underneath.

“I’ll see what I can do. Ulaz, was it?” 

“Thank you.”

* * *

 

“You’re dehydrated,” and a shove of a water-pouch into his hands. 

Such is Shiro’s first meeting with Shar. She looks just like Kasai, species-wide, fox-like and furry. The differences, really, are smaller ears and snout. Smaller everything, Shar far below the average Galra height where Kasai towers over every Empire soldier they come across. Grey and quiet to his red and loud. Quiet but not afraid to tend to your needs. 

“I’m a Zenko,” she explains, in response to Shiro’s query about the similarity. “Zenko and Yoka are cousins, almost. But still different. Now, please, drink your water.”

“How do you kn-?”

“I am a medic to a ship full of people deathly afraid of medical care. I know.” With that, Shar leaves the scene to return to her medbay, Moth trailing after her carrying a box full of water-pouches.  _ Drink more water,  _ the girl mouths at Shiro.

Shiro looks at his pouch and takes a drink. 


	4. Chapter 4

Shar blends into the background, at least in comparison to her louder shipmates. She and Icoci discuss life peacefully, over cups of hian tea, with screaming and explosions in the background. But unlike Icoci, Shar’s body is sturdy, able to stand up against larger crowds and walk on two feet. It is Shar, then, that goes out shopping for the crew. 

(Because if there is one thing the Zenko knows, it is that everyone ignores the healer. Shar is also the only one among her crewmates lacking a wanted poster, in part thanks to this logic.)

Most times, she goes alone. 

This time, she goes with the newest member onboard. Shiro. 

The bustling marketplace is nothing new, similar to a hundred other markets, to her. It is quite the treat to watch Shiro look at everything with curious, bright eyes. 

“Do you want something?” she asks, after the human lingers particularly long at the booth full of hanging glass amulets. 

Startled, he glances at her. “Not really,” Shiro says, leaving the glass baubles behind to follow after her. But a healer observes, watching him glancing back more than once at the booth. 

The shopping list this time is short and the goods easy to get. Plenty of time leftover to explore the market, wander among all the various wares for sale. 

“It’s amazing. I’ve never seen so many aliens in one place like this,” Shiro confides in Shar.

Shar nods, ears upright and happy on her head. “Where do you want to go next?”

Shiro freezes. Not long, but the pause is noticeable. 

“Do you want something to eat or go look at something?” she prompts gently. 

“Just looking,” Shiro says firmly, jerking his head up and down slightly. 

“Towards the center or away from it?” It’s easier for the human, this narrowing of options. Shar’s keen eyes can see his shoulders relaxing, if just barely. Never all the way, there are too many possible enemies in the crowd to ever do that much. 

Puddle-building, she reminds herself. Drop by drop, Shiro perhaps can recover his sense of choice. But it never will be the same, the man he was before. The boy.

Shiro gravitates towards anything that looks even remotely like a star or a four-legged furred hunter creature. A lion, he calls those four-legged creatures.

She’s never seen so many lion pieces before for sale. They aren’t overt, most of them, mere suggestions of shape in cloth, in metal, in every kind of material. Because for all the loosened grip present here, the Empire still exists. 

_ Voltron _ , is the whisper in the streets.  _ Voltron is coming, I’ve heard, my kin have heard, Voltron is out there.  _

The Zenko buys a simple black lion figurine. A fine gift, for a paladin of Voltron. 

A promise of sorts, that she makes to him, pressing the stone into his hand. 

“We’ll find them. Don’t worry.”

* * *

 

“Why didn’t you tell us you had a wanted poster?”

Shiro stares back, more than a little wary. “I didn’t know there was one.” Which, now that he’s considering it, is a stupid thing to assume. He is, after all, the Champion, a favored gladiator in the Empire, and the Black Paladin. Of course the Galra Empire would put a bounty on his head. 

“Oh, don’t worry, your face is safe from the masses,” Madu reassures him, waving a dismissive hand. “I mean, we only found the bounty after raiding some high-ranked officer. I bet  _ only  _ high-ranked officers know that you’ve flown the coop to fight back.”

“And by  _ we _ , she means herself,” Icoci helpfully clarifies, studying Madu’s hard-gotten booty. “According to this, your crimes are ‘theft of Empire property’ and...’deserting’?” Fins snap shut before slowly unfurling again in consideration. Zer head frill squishes down against zer back, Icoci’s version of a frown. “I was unaware that gladiators were ‘paid’ for their fighting, or for that matter, recruited into the Empire.”

“Deserting is code for running outta there like there’s no tomorrow,” Madu explains, expanding the image’s size on her ill-gotten screen. “Rekior’s got a bounty for deserting, remember?”

“Wait, you all have wanted posters?” Shiro asks, craning his neck forward to see the screen for himself. The paladin sees himself, thin and pale ( _ broken) _ , and quickly withdraws before a flashback can start. He’s not entirely successful, flashes of claws touching his body, holding him down, of  _ we need a good image, take it now _ , but at least he’s not frozen in the past. 

“Wanna see?” Madu offers, flipping the screen face-down on the tableside. Her fingers tap on the blank backside. 

“Sure,” the human agrees, valiantly struggling out of dark memories. 

A single gesture and the wanted posters, the bounties, they are spread out all over the walls, coming out of the ancient hologram projector, jittering and humming as it tries to keep up.

The pictures aren’t official mugshots like Shiro’s, varying from crude sketches based on eyewitness account to cleaned up screen blurs capturing their subject in the act.

Everyone has one. Even Rags has the barest of sketches, depicting mostly its claws and bright eyes amidst a mess of lines. Only...

“Where’s Shar?” Shiro’s head turns, following the line of posters.

Madu shrugs. “She’s smart and doesn’t have one.”

The Galra writing, other alien writings, are familiar to the eyes. Doesn’t mean Shiro can read any of it. Literacy is not exactly encouraged among the Empire’s slaves. 

Icoci starts to read the various crimes out loud, perhaps partially aware of Shiro’s dilemma. 

“Kasai: piracy, assault, murder, theft, all of the major crimes. Rekior: piracy and deserting. Rags: assault, lack of proper licensing. I have only piracy, really. Madu has theft of Empire knowledge and public indecency-” 

“Oh, don’t lie, Icoci. You’ve got ‘disrespect of superiors’ in there too.” Madu points out the offending report.

Icoci sniffs. “Informing the head engineer of a flaw in the blueprints of a future ship design is  _ not  _ disrespect. Only sense.”

“Tell the Empire that,” Shiro mutters sourly. “Moth’s got a record too?”

“Yep. Theft.” The Bacchan pulls up the picture. It’s clearer than most of the others, more solid. An actual image instead of a sketch. Almost like Shiro’s mugshot, if Shiro’s image had been taken mostly as an afterthought, background to some other slave’s picture. Because there’s Moth, right there in the background, behind a line of various lifeforms.

Shiro pictures Moth stealing, of sneaking away something in her favorite pouch. Food, maybe. Or a small item like a pen or a cup.

“What did she steal?”

Madu’s eyes gleam in the lowlight of the holographic bounties. “Herself.”

* * *

 

Kasai’s tattoos catch the eye. They’re  _ right there, _ dark patterns carved deep enough into the skin to be seen through a layer of fur. They’re meant to catch the eye, twining and twisting patterns that follow along the lines of muscles, of bones. The markings cluster mostly on his upper torso, on his arms, back and chest. The tattoos also stretch all the way down to his feet from there in spiraling vines and whorls.  _ Everywhere _ .

Shiro’s no stranger to tattoos. He knew people back on Earth that had them, was considering getting one himself. Maybe when he returned, from Kerberos. 

Before the Empire. Before becoming Champion. He closes his eyes and can  _ feel  _ the Galra burning their words, their symbols into his flesh.  _ Ours,  _ they whisper, though he cannot understand the written word,  _ ours forever. You can’t escape us, Champion. _

All slaves share the same phrase, one that everyone knows the meaning of, even if they cannot actually read it.  _ Property of the Galra Empire _ , it proclaims on his back, at the base of his neck.

Luckily, the mark is low enough that Shiro can hide it underneath the collar of his paladin armor and his normal clothes. He’s managed, so far, to keep the other inhabitants of the Castle of Lions from finding out about it or any of his other scars. 

Yet he wonders, at this alien who displays all of his personal tattoos and scars so proudly. Everyone can see the remains of long-since-healed long gashes running down Kasai’s back, over the the black tattoos. Everyone knows what that means, what past the Yoka runs from. 

Another clear scar that haunts Shiro is one he himself has, that he and Kasai share. A sharp, jagged symbol, on the forearm. (On the flesh arm he has left). 

_ Trouble, death,  _ are the words he’s heard whispered about such a mark. The slaves with that symbol don’t tend to live long. 

Shiro doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand how Kasai can show his pains and wounds to the world so proudly, is so willing to tell everyone a story written on flesh. 

 

He asks Shar about it, in hopes she’ll be able to shed some light on the subject. She considers his questions, ears twitching back and forth on her head ever so slightly. 

“What you need to understand, Shiro, is what Kasai is doing is very...Yoka,” she starts, twisting her sleeve under her clawed fingers. “His clan was very proud of their scars. Scars, they said, was how one knows they survived.”

Shiro nods at that. Every single scar on his body is an encounter that he survived, where...someone else didn’t. His right hand clenches into a fist at the thought. 

“For Kasai, surviving is enough. Living is enough. But for you...” Shar looks at him, green eyes full of some unknown emotion, though not pity or sympathy, Shiro knows those very well now. 

“You need something more. A cause.”

_ Redemption,  _ is the word that she avoids, that lies underneath her words. 

What Shiro’s heart years for.

* * *

 

Their first meeting, Shiro almost kills Rekior. 

His Galra arm comes, a humming purple, to rest at the base of Rekior’s throat. 

“I am not going back,” Shiro almost snarls, ready to attack. To take the Galra’s head off. 

“I do not want to return as well,” Rekior says, hands out in supplication. “Remove your hand.”

“Oh, hey, that’s where the Champion went,” Kasai enters the room, stopping at the sight before him. 

“That’s not my name,” Shiro says flatly.

“What is your name then?” Kasai’s ears are forward. Interested. (What everyone always misses is how his feet shift ever so lightly, even with that interest. Ready to spring forward and rip someone’s head off). 

“...Shiro.”

“Shiro? Not bad,” Kasai points with a claw at the two. “Let him go.”

“I would appreciate that,” Rekior says, a bit faintly. 


	5. Chapter 5

Living is the difficult part. Dying is rather easy, in the game of revolution.

There are always new groups of rebels. As the Galra stomp one out, another sparks to life for vengeance. But what they never understand is simply this: vengeance, on its own, is not enough.

If it was ever enough, then Zarkon would have been dead a thousand times over. 

They all know the thirst for revenge, the lot of them. 

Enslaved, discarded, broken to the mold, the crew of the  _ Starchaser  _ knows. 

They are also far too aware of how heavy the odds are against them. Every cycle, Madu loses another from her network. Every cycle, Icoci sees another star go out, looking at zer charts, darkened under the tides of war. Every cycle, they all lose some ground to the Galra. 

What keeps them going, cycle after cycle?

Where the cries of  _ Voltron  _ bring hope to other scattered groupings of rebels, the crew scoffs. 

“Humph, some story of a big robot saving the universe? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Voltron? A children’s tale, nothing more.”

“Well, if Voltron is real...we don’t need it.”

“Voltron’s out there, fighting? Well, we fought first. And still fighting!”

Because, in the end, the  _ Starchaser  _ is a ship full of careless souls who throw their lives out to the stars. In the end, they are not rebels who need the idea of Voltron to keep them going. 

In the end, they fight, though not for vengeance nor for fairy-tale come to life.

They fight for the better tomorrow. (That, maybe, just maybe, that what they went through...if they fight hard enough, no one else will have to go through that.)

* * *

 

“ _ You’re  _ a paladin of  _ Voltron _ .” The huge red fox-creature doesn’t bother hiding his disbelief at Shiro’s words.  _ Kasai _ , he calls himself. 

Shiro doesn’t blame Kasai for not believing him. It is a hard thing to believe. But it does make his life a little harder, if they don’t believe him. 

“Awfully violent, for a _ legendary _ hero,” someone murmurs in the background. The Galra, most likely, the same Galra he had attacked earlier. How stupid of him, to just attack like that. 

The human inwardly winces, outward appearance still like stone. “Yes, I’m a paladin.”

Large orange-brown (what was the word for that color? He didn’t remember the word) eyes narrow, looking at him closely. 

“But of Voltron? Voltron is a hatchling tale,” a fish-like otter alien says, the fins where front paws should be fluttering. 

“Look, I don’t know what else to say but the truth.” Shiro’s fists tighten at his side. 

Kasai studies the tiny (at least to him) human a little longer. Just when Shiro is sure he can’t take anymore, all this staring, the alien’s ears go straight, flicking up and down. “I believe you.”

“Really?” The word accidently slips out. No, he can’t show doubt like this, not when he’s telling the truth about Voltron. 

“Well, I believe you believe you’re a part of Voltron.” Kasai tilts a clawed hand back and forth, ears twitching backwards. “Same thing, really.”

Shiro sighs. “I’ll take it.”

Better than the alternative, right?

* * *

 

It’s...nice, not having to be in charge for once. 

What’s less nice is the utter chaos on the ship Shiro’s currently on. He never knows where they are, how long they stay in one spot. They don’t seem to have any kind of routine whatsoever. 

Other than morning meals, at least. 

At first glance, Kasai looks like the captain of the crew. A deeper look reveals that the reality is much more complicated than that. Kasai merely is the one to speak up first, most of the time, leaving the impression that he’s in charge. An impression the alien doesn’t really do much to challenge, honestly. But everyone does what they want, when they want.

To Shiro, used to military ranking before Kerberos and to Galra ranking after, the situation is completely...alien, for lack of better word for it. 

_ Frightening _ , a darker part of mind whispers. With some effort, he pushes it down.

He’ll be fine. He’ll adapt. 

He has to.

* * *

 

Madu first hears the whispers on the edge of civilized space ( _ Galra  _ space). 

One of her contacts tacks onto to the end of their report something about lions.  _ Lions _ , of all the things. Madu notes the observation, as outrageous it is, and moves on. 

Later, when all her contacts near Olkari send her are songs of the lions’ praises, that all she gets is more and more confirmation that robotic lions are out there, Madu has to sit back a bit to digest this. 

Really, the situation is too crazy to believe. Voltron, returned after ten thousand years? Fighting the Emperor alongside the last Alteans? Sounded like something from some kids’ story. 

Luckily, Madu is an expert at dealing with the unexpected, as well as  _ being  _ the unexpected. She finds her sources and deals with the situation the only way she knows how: ignoring it.

So. Voltron’s back? Nice, but that didn’t really change anything.

One weapon didn’t turn the tide of a war. 

(She learns much, much later how wrong she is. But Madu at this point doesn’t mind.)

(After all, it is  _ nice _ , sometimes, to watch a huge robot just slice through a fleet of Galra ships.)

(From a safe distance, of course.)

* * *

 

“What’s Voltron like?” Moth asks, blue eyes bright as she leans forward, eager for whatever new information Shiro can impart. 

“Big. It’s a giant robot.” Shiro gestures out a general shape with his hands, implying how huge Voltron is. “Much, much bigger than this ship.”

“Where’d you keep Voltron, when you’re not using it?” The redhead frowns, considering the problem. Picturing, perhaps, a giant robot stuffed into a bigger space-closet somewhere, or being towed by a ship slowly through space. 

“Well, Voltron is made up of our lions. I fly the Black Lion, which makes the head.” 

“Hm.” Moth thinks this through, nibbling at her lip, scooting closer to the much taller paladin. “And there’s five lions. That’s what the stories say.”

“Do you want to hear about the rest?” Shiro offers.

Moth grins, throwing her arms into the air. “Yes! And their pilots too! I bet they’re just good as you.”

“Maybe even better,” Shiro says quietly, before taking in a deep breath. “The first is the Red Lion...”

* * *

 

Shiro’s fighting style is fantastic. Admirable. Kasai enjoys watching him, in the heat of battle. 

He  _ bounces  _ off the walls to get to his target.  _ Bounces.  _ Comes in, takes a head off or inflicts some other serious wound, and is gone again. 

A kind of agility that Kasai, with his size, cannot match. An agility paired with intelligence, the way Shiro quickly used any advantage possible in the surrounding environment. 

The Yoka may be strong, but he knows, from hard-earned experience, that cleverness can beat strength even in the worst of circumstances. (His clan, many generations strong, had in the end fallen to trickery, after all.)

“You are worthy of the title Champion,” Kasai remarks once, eying broken drones all over the loof after a particularly impressive string of attacks.

Shiro looks away, clearly uncomfortable. Something inside the human shivers at the name of ‘Champion’. Well, Kasai supposes that the Galra had given it to him, so that’s bad. But why didn’t the human take it, own it? 

Shiro  _ is  _ the Champion, though not of the Galra. 

The human is  _ Voltron’s  _ Champion, if he belongs to anyone. (If Voltron’s real.)

Which Shiro doesn’t. How ridiculous a thought, like thinking one could claim ownership to the sky. Kasai can see the truth,  _ feels  _ it, where the Galra never did. 

Shiro is a good person, in a way Kasai isn’t. Kasai doesn’t mind, really, he’s had a long time to get used to his flaws. Kasai is of fire, of razing the world to ash, of rage.

He’s spent a lot time burning. 

The human is of the air, of escape, hungry for the stars. A reminder of someone he knew long ago, young and of a clan that breathed in freedom like air. (Before...before everything died.)

Air, with a sharpness to him. Lightning strikes quickly, once, twice, three times. Clever and keen just like Shiro’s fists. Metal and flesh. Galra metal, gifted by the enemy. 

Kasai laughs, thinking of it. 

“Those merkah armed him. They charged him up and let him loose!”

The Yoka would raise a glass if he had one, in his quarters. Since he doesn’t, he makes due with a fist, fangs exposed in a wolfish grin.

“To the Champion, that he’ll burn the Empire down.”

* * *

 

When Shiro first comes aboard, he only has his black paladin armor to wear.

Which is only to be expected, when you’ve just come out of a battle fighting Emperor of the Known Universe into the middle of space. But armor isn’t the greatest to wear all the time. 

Unfortunately, the human doesn’t exactly have a lot of options to choose from. Moth is a child. Kasai wears...not much. Icoci’s kind don’t do clothes. Rags? You must be joking. The medic apparently is too tiny for Shiro’s wide shoulders. Which leaves only...

“I don’t know about this,” Shiro says, skeptically eying the shirt held out to him.

Rekior rumbles, ears trembling. “Take it,” he hisses, shoving the black material in Shiro’s arms. 

The Galra then turns away, waiting for Shiro to leave.

Shiro takes it in the end. He doesn’t really have a choice otherwise, unless he wants his armor to stink.

(The clothes are comfortable.)

(He never tells Rekior this.)


	6. Chapter 6

The sky has always been rather difficult for the No One to comprehend, so far above the ground. But it tries its best, when the sky is the only thing surrounding it.

No One likes its new grove-mates, though they are all much taller. The closest one to both its own height and true speech is tree-climber-explorer, bright eyes and red head tendrils. For a while, the No One enjoys sharing a rest-spot with tree-climber-explorer.

But then the new one comes. 

The new one hums of the darkness, of the earth that the No One faintly recalls clawing its way out of. The new one reminds the No One of purple-quiver, both buzz of fear and anger whenever they encounter each other. Beneath all that, is a tune that No One barely remembers, a sound of the Big Ones.  

The new one is not very good chewer, No One soon discovers. He never chews the food when he needs it, letting his body grumble and roar with unpleasant noises. 

The new one does poorly at resting as well, always avoiding rest whenever possible. 

He needs No One’s help, No One decides. Tree-climber-explorer is clever, will survive without No One. New one might not. 

Late during the rest period, when new one rests and No One is on him, hearing the song in his breath, No One knows what to do. 

_ Star-catcher,  _ it names him, tapping the name out on its arm, onto star-catcher’s arm.  _ Star-catcher _ ,  _ you will live. _

_ Live and hold the stars once more. _

* * *

 

Mealtimes are always an adventure abroad  _ Starchaser.  _

Kasai and Moth are some of the only ones that really show up every cycle at a set time for meals. Shiro shows up too, really because of lack of anything better to do. And, well, for food, he supposes, on second thought.

Meals are pretty varied as well, at least compared to the green goo meals on the Castle. But that’s thanks to the various alien species sharing the same ship together. 

Kasai scarfs meat, any kind of meat, all meat. If was moving just two seconds ago, very likely he’ll eat it. But the Yoka will eat other things, if no one else will.  

Moth eats a more varied diet, a mixture of all the fun space-dried food. “Here, Shiro, you need some food too,” she says, pushing a plate of pink pea-looking things towards Shiro. 

Shiro glances down at his already full plate. “Ah, I’m good.” 

The food on his plate wiggles and Shiro leans back. “What-!?”

Slowly, something rises from the mush. Something with bright red eyes. 

Rags chirps at Shiro, waving its arms at him before it plops back down. Some carrot-things bounce off and Rags glances at them, only partially interested. 

It picks a green veggie stick up to offer to Shiro.

“...I’m not going to question this. Nope. I’m not, I’m not.” the paladin puts his head down on the table, not  _ thinking about what just happened.  _

Kasai glances over. “You gonna eat that?”

* * *

 

Rekior watches the sleeping Champion, all too aware that the relative safety is an illusion. The Galra twitches, his entire body shaking. If the Champion is here, what if the Empire follows soon after? What if Haggar comes for them? What if the crew is taken and-

“You’ve run out, haven’t you?” Shar’s voice cuts into his thoughts, calm like she always is. 

Rekior flexes his fingers, reluctantly agreeing with a slight nod. 

Shar’s ears twitch back. She sighs. “You know you can always come ask...”

“I am not weak.” The words escape his mouth, much harsher than he intended.

“That, you are not,” Shar agrees, looking up from her work checking the Champion’s wounds. “I am glad you choose to come here to fix your problems.”  _ Instead of making me chase you down,  _ is the unspoken message underneath the words, Rekior knows. 

Rekior avoids looking at the Champion’s face, choosing to look at the prosthetic arm instead. An arm that’s taken many lives, thanks to the Empire. Thanks to  _ her... _ he shivers.

“Rekior, I am becoming ill watching you, please,” Shar says, rising from her seat. “I will retrieve you the medication as you watch this lifeform’s vitals.”

He can only manage a single jerk that Shar thankfully interprets correctly as agreement. “I’ll be right back, don’t worry.”

Rekior sighs, watching the still, still body on the medical table. “Worry?” he whispers bitterly, holding up his shaking hands, “That’s  _ all  _ I can do.”

A twitch. Rekior freezes, unbelieving, as the Champion opens his eyes. And shoots up, tackling Rekior against the wall. There is a humming hand, like a blade, at the Galra’s throat. “Where am I?! Answer me, Galra!”

A part of Rekior passively notes that the prosthetic is alive with druid magics, quintessence that could have only come from one source. The rest of him is panicking. 

“I am not going back,” the Champion informs him. 

“I do not want to return as well. Remove your hand.” It’s a miracle his voice remains as calm as it does, he hopes Shar can do something about this...

Because he would rather not die by the hand of Haggar’s favorite toy, thank you very much. 

_ What irony,  _ he reflects,  _ if a druid dies this way. _

_ If I die this way. _

_ Not like I don’t deserve it. _

* * *

 

A nerd-turned-slave-turned-freedom fighter walks into a space bar. Sounds like a bad joke, doesn’t it? Almost as bad of a joke as a champion gladiator becoming a Voltron paladin. Now that’s pretty funny. But Matt Holt isn’t thinking of jokes when he steps in.

Matt cautiously fingers the gun at his belt, keeping an eye out on the wild surroundings. When he had first gotten his weapon, he protested he didn’t know how to shoot. (That it was he didn’t shoot, his eyesight  _ sucks _ .) The fighter who had handed him the gun in question merely shrugged, saying “You’ll figure it out, yuman.”

_ You’ll figure it out. _ Gotta love those teachers, right? At least Matt was good at figuring stuff out. 

It was what had gotten him on the Kerberos mission, after all. 

“Are you sure your contact’s here, Marx?” he asks his companion, a four-armed yellow-and-black ape man thing. (Man, Matt will never get over how weird actual aliens look.)

Marx shrugs, an action that looks really weird with four shoulders. “That’s what they told me.”

Matt barely manages to sidestep all sorts of appendages just lying out there on the floor as they head for the bar. It’s a miracle he doesn’t trip over anything on the way there. 

Marx makes a beeline (heh, beeline, get it?) towards a figure sitting at the very end.

She looks human enough, except for the horns. 

Some kind of code phrase is exchanged between Marx and the alien, before Marx waves to Matt, signaling he can come in closer now. 

Her eyes light up at the sight of Matt. “Oh! A human!”

“Yes, yes, a yuman,” Marx grumbles, “Business now. You agent of Lady Smoke, correct?”

The alien woman composes herself, sipping from her glass. “Perhaps. What do you have to offer our gracious Lady?”

As Marx moves forward into negotiation, Matt’s mind considers what just happened. Human...she called him a human, not yuman, the properly pronounced term with just the right amount of ‘hhh’ added in.  

“Wait, do you know a human?” he blurts out, stepping to interrupt Marx’s spiel. Marx glares at him, and Matt can practically see it now, yet another reason why taking the yuman on board was a Bad Idea forming in the soldier’s head. 

The agent smiles. “I might. Any names?”

Matt bites at his lip. “...Sam Holt. Or Takashi Shirogane.”

Her eyes widen. Just slightly and she quickly composes herself, but it’s there. “Shirogane...that sounds familiar.”

“Shiro,” Matt tests, and yep, she’s definitely shocked there. 

She turns fully towards him for the first time, all attention on him. The agent only spares enough to tell Marx, “Perhaps another time?” 

Matt can hear Marx huffing at the dismissal, but he doesn’t care. Not when there’s a possible link to Shiro right there in front of him. 

“I’m Madu,” she introduces herself, before getting right into business. “Are you Matt Holt?”


	7. Chapter 7

What really irritates Icoci about the Empire is the utter waste of the entire organization. Of all the lies they tell. Icoci knows ze should not be irritated by this, but life is what it is and Icoci is annoyed anyway.

Truth: Xaquo are born to gather knowledge, to better the world they leave behind. They all seek to return home at the end of the lives in space, with that new knowledge. Otherwise, what would be the point of the entire endeavor?

Reality: So Icoci gathers information. But ze takes it a step further, in using it to make  _ conclusions,  _ rather than leaving that part to wiser elders.  

Fact: There is Bad and Wrong that the Galra Empire does, as ze understands it. 

Also fact: But the Galra can do Good and Right as well, depending on the situation. 

Conclusion: Empire and Galra are not the one and the same, like the universe appears to think. 

Truth: Xaquo are supposed to be calm, refined, and impartial. It is not theirs to judge. 

Reality: Everyone knows that Icoci is easily the most prickly on board  _ Starchaser  _ in terms related to the Empire _.  _ Everyone but the newcomer Champion, but he’ll learn soon enough. The Xaquo dislikes everything about the Empire, finding more facts every day about its inadequacy. 

Maybe Icoci is just an itty bit bitter, that ze lost their former position as a ship engineer because of the Empire and its ways. That ze were separated from the rest of zer kind, in that loss. 

Fact: Telling the truth has a detrimental effects on one’s career.

Also fact: Telling the truth can have you discharged, in the Galra Empire.

Conclusion: Truth is not much valued in the Galra Empire, not like lies are. 

Fact: Lies are harmful.

_ Opinion: The Galra Empire should be changed at the very least, torn down at the most. _

* * *

 

“What happened to her?”

Kasai looks up from the sleeping child in his lap. “You sure you want to know?”

Shiro nods firmly. 

Kasai grins. It’s not nice, not friendly. Yoka don’t smile like humans do, when they’re trying to be friendly. No, this smile is all threat, a barely concealed promise of violence.

“You’re not the first human to get lost out here,” he begins, petting a little head gently, “You’re just the first to get so famous. But humans aren’t common, at least.”

“Go on.” Shiro’s Galra hand impatiently taps at the table. 

“She was a pet, I think. Don’t really know, don’t really ask. I know she’s scrappy, scrappy enough to get herself and one injured pit fighter out into space on her lonesome.”

Kasai leans his head back, eyes full of sadness.

“You made it worse, you know. Not on purpose!” he’s quick to add, trying to stab down Shiro’s overwhelming guilt. “Just...there are those that are clever enough, to see a similarity between some brat and the Champion. Greedy enough to think that selling this brat to the Galra could get ‘em some profit. Not your fault...but it is what is.”

Kasai sighs, hot stinking breath washing over Shiro’s face. 

“It is what it is,” the Yoka repeats, muscles tight as he gently lifts Moth in his arms.

* * *

 

Some nights, Shiro can’t sleep, no matter how hard he tries. No matter how much Rags attempts to help him. He rises from the bed, the little creature silently creeping away, recognizing the human’s desire to be alone.

Those nights, Shiro wanders the ship like he’s patrolled the Castle in the past.  _ Starchaser  _ is an older model, one that creaks ominously at some parts and wheezes at others. The Castle and  _ Starchaser  _ share some similarities in that respect, though Shiro doubts that the ship he’s currently on comes anywhere close to ten thousand years old. 

The Castle is empty. Lonely and big enough to cultivate more than a few ghost stories among the paladins. (Lance still won’t go anywhere near the airlocks alone.) There is some distinct feel that Shiro gets, that the Castle was meant to hold many, many more than the currently present inhabitants. That it probably did, at one point, ten thousand years ago. Despite its age, the Castle still somehow manages to look almost new, with clean empty floors and rooms. 

_ Starchaser _ .... is the exact opposite. Every space is lived in, or shows some sign of life. Doodles on the wall, crates and boxes overflowing in various rooms, everything is worn or torn, used to the max.  _ Starchaser  _ is falling apart, but is carefully, lovingly fitted back together each and every time it starts to falter. (By Icoci at least. Everyone else just hits the wall, either moving on or in Kasai’s case, cursing the ship rather violently.)

There is light, somewhere in those dim halls, that he follows. To the galley, which is slightly less of a mess during the sleep cycle during the waking cycle. The food is put away, at least.

Shar sits at the stained table, a cup of tea steaming in front of her. She looks up from the reddish liquid to meet Shiro’s eyes. “Most of the crew suffers from insomnia, at one point or another,” the Zenko offers in explanation.

She doesn’t offer him any tea as he sits down. Really, for the better, since apparently hian tea isn’t exactly the safest for humans to consume. “I miss the blossoms,” Shar says suddenly. “Every year, in the spring, there were beautiful hian blossoms. Red and white flowers, as big as a this cup.” She taps the tea cup against the table. “Bigger, some. There were viewings.”

“That sounds like cherry blossoms, back home,” Shiro says, recalling the delicate pink blooms. Of going to see them every spring with his grandmother. 

“Do you ever want to return there? To your home world?” Green eyes watch him over the rim of a small cup. 

“I...” He doesn’t know. Picturing himself returning, staying for good on Earth, no wars and enemies on horizon...he can’t. Shiro is too...different, from the man he had once been, to ever be comfortable on Earth again. Even the brief time he was there, between the crash and the Blue Lion, had confirmed to him what he secretly suspected.  _ You don’t belong here. Not anymore. _

Shar nods, as if he’s just confirmed something. “Kasai and I...we are the same. I ache for home, but I wonder. Is for the home I remember or the home that really was that I long for?” She sighs, sipping more deeply of her tea. “We talk, him and I, of our home planet. What he remembers is long gone and what I remember...never was there in the first place.”

Shar tries a small human-smile, showing her teeth barely past her lips. “It’s...hard. But if it makes a difference, I would love to see these ‘cheri’ blossoms you speak up.”

“I would be happy to show them to you.” And to the rest of the paladins, Shiro thinks. He pictures all them, laughing and playing around, young, and finds that picturing himself stepping onto Earth once more is less difficult than before.

* * *

Madu wishes she wasn’t an atheist, sometimes. It might have been easier, if she blamed all her troubles upon the fickle currents of Fate like the rest of her people did. 

But she is no believer. Only one who knows the truth: the universe is very cold place indeed and it cares nothing for anyone. There is no divinity, held up as a paragon above the rest to follow. (She steadfastly ignores the strange giggling in her ears at that, nope, nothing to hear there.)

Somehow, though, she keeps falling into these strange coincidences, that some would call miracles. 

Finding the Champion alone in space is weird enough. Discovering a human that had been his friend, lost among thousands of lifeforms in the Empire, against the overwhelming odds? That was...strange. Strange at the best, strange at the worst.

Sometimes, Madu is certain the universe quite possibly is mocking her, if not for her knowledge that the universe doesn’t really care enough to do that much.

Oh well.

The Bacchan shrugs and takes a draught. “Nothing I can do,” she says aloud.

“What?” says her companion, the human. (What was his name? Satt? Natt?)

She waves a hand at him. “Nothing,” she says truthfully. “Nothing at all.”

* * *

 

Moth can’t see anything. It’s so dark, so very dark. She whimpers but quickly cuts the sound off. They’ll hurt her if she makes sound, she knows, but she needs to hear something. Anything. 

She can’t breath. 

Can’t.

Breath.

“Breath.” 

Whoever is speaking wisely doesn’t touch her, waiting for her to respond.    
Moth sobs almost silently, drawing in air almost desperately. “Moth,” the speaker says quietly, “Talk to me, what’s wrong?”

She opens her mouth to speak before thinking better of it. What if this is a trick? 

“Moth, please, can you tell me?” She peeks just slightly from under her eyelids, flicking them just far enough up to see a dark-haired head with white hair tuft bent towards her. Another human, she realizes in shock, another person just like her, here with her. Surely they won’t hurt her, then? You never know, but...she’ll try it. 

“They’ll hurt me,” she whispers, opening her eyes once more. 

“Who’ll hurt you?” the other human asks gently. 

“Good mer-ch-in-dice doesn’t talk,” Moth barely manages to choke out. 

The other human’s eyes harden, full of anger. Moth quails, attempting to curl up even tighter into a ball. The man notices and takes a deep breath, visibly calming himself down. He puts a hand out. “Don’t be scared, Moth. You’ll be fine. They’re getting the antidote soon, don’t worry.”

Moth knows she shouldn’t trust him, this stranger, but...she bites her tongue and puts out a small hand, feeling the grasp of cold metal.

_ Shiro _ , something whispers and somehow, the girl feels impossibly safe.

* * *

 

Matt can’t believe his eyes. (Which he can’t. Most of the time. Cruddy eyesight.)

But that’s Shiro. Right there. Alive and well. With a robotic Galra arm. 

And a little red-haired girl bouncing around him. A  _ human  _ girl.

Madu steps forward, where he can’t. “Heya, Shiro! Got something,” she calls, gesturing at Matt’s friend. Shiro looks up and...freezes. Like Matt has, at sight of each other, when they both thought they would never see each other again. 

The little girl pauses as well, glancing over curiously. Her blue eyes widen almost comically. “Whoa! Another human!” She looks back at Shiro. “Do you know him?” 

Shiro nods, slowly, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Yes,” he makes out, “I know him.”

“That’s soooo....” she pauses, trying to find a word for it.

“Cool? Awesome?” Matt suggests.

The girl beams. “Yeah!” She turns to Shiro again, and asks in an exaggerated whisper, “Cool?”

“Really really good,” he supplies before standing, taking a few steps towards Matt. “Matt...I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Matt blinks. “What are you saying sorry about?”

Shiro weakly gestures to his leg, his bum leg that limps everywhere. “I hurt you.”

“Shiro,” Matt takes Shiro by the shoulders, looking him in the eyes, “You saved my life doing that. We both know I would  _ died  _ if you hadn’t done that.”

Shiro looks away. “...I should have found another way.”

Matt knows his friend and former roommate well enough to realize he’s talking about more than just the leg injury. “There’s  _ nothing _ you could have done. None of us knew how bad the Galra were then at Kerberos. You did all you could.”

“That wasn’t good enough, Matt,” Shiro says, shaking his head, stepping back.

Matt swallows. “Maybe it wasn’t. But, man, I  _ missed  _ you. I’m glad to see you again.”

_ I’m so happy that you’re not dead. _

“Me too, Matt, me too.”

The two weren’t exactly hugging types, before. Now, it’s much harder to touch and be touched. But the two lost boys wrap their arms around each other, just so happy to see each other again.


	8. Chapter 8

“Shiro won’t do anything with me anymore,” Moth complains, folding her arms over her chest. 

Kasai blinks at her. “Er?” 

“He’s mean now.” She pouts, kicking at the floor. 

Fur rises slightly on Kasai’s shoulders. “What?” He asks, slightly aggravated at the thought Moth’s presenting to him now. 

“Super mean,” Moth continues, “He’s always with Matt now.”

Kasai’s fur slowly goes down, the Yoka looking less like a puffed up angry cat. “He and the other human were friends before.”

“Doesn’t mean he has to  _ ignore  _ me,” Moth sniffles, roughly rubbing at her face. 

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Now, Kasai isn’t the best when it comes to comfort or dealing with the sadder spectrum of emotions. His first response is to punch the cause. His second response...also to punch the cause. But punching Shiro wouldn’t help anyone.

Despite what most people may think, Kasai wasn’t  _ all  _ impulse and violence. Seven hundred years of life didn’t leave one without some measure of experience. 

“He won’t ignore you forever,” he starts out with, gently. “I’m sure that he’ll do things with you, both of the humans will.”

“But they’re not staying.” It is not a question. Moth’s furless face is flushed, water leaking from her eyes, a human sign of sadness. “I’ll be  _ alone again.” _

“I’ll be here. Are you saying I’m not someone?” Kasai growls playfully, huffing out a breath that ruffles Moth’s hair. 

“No, it’s just...” That you’re not human. That you don’t always understand human things. Moth hugs Kasai’s midsection, tears wetting his fur. “I’m gonna be alone  _ forever. _ ”

“Not forever,” whispers Kasai, hugging Moth back carefully. “We won’t be alone forever.”

* * *

 

Matt doesn’t trust the Galra on board. For good reason, since his personal experience with them has leaned towards the worse in the past. And that’s  _ not  _ counting the entire slave experience. 

Galra, Matt has learned, tend towards arrogance, the arrogance that comes from ruling most of the universe and successfully conquering whatever attempted to fight back. 

If a Galra isn’t openly a pain, then they’re plotting something. 

“I don’t trust you,” he tells the Galra bluntly, meeting him in the hallway. Alone, Shiro somewhere else, the rest of crew scattered throughout the ship. 

The Galra pauses. “You don’t have to,” is the alien’s reply. “I’m sure your friend can protect you from me, if you’re concerned.”

Matt straightens his back, standing as tall as he can, meeting yellow eyes directly. No matter how much his gut twists inside, he doesn’t retreat from the Galra.  

“If you hurt him...” he leaves the threat hanging open. 

“I won’t hurt him. Or you, for that matter.”

“Sure you won’t.” Matt mutters under his breath, fully aware that the Galra’s keen ears can hear him. He’s not trying to be subtle, after all. 

He waits for the Galra to leave first. Matt’s not gonna turn his back on a possible enemy. The Galra takes the hint and walks away.

Matt watches the alien until he’s out of sight. Then, the human heaves a sigh of relief, slumping against the wall. 

“What kind of mess did I get myself into now?”

* * *

 

“You have  _ nanotechnology _ ?” 

Kasai twitches his head, ears jittering back and forth. “Got some nites, yeah.”

“Matt...” Shiro tries. Only for Matt to fling his arms out dramatically. “He has nanotechnology,  _ nanotechnology,  _ Shiro. Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“What’s the problem?” Kasai asks, more than a little concerned at the over-excited human. 

“No problem, except that humans have trying to create effective nanites  _ forever. _ ” Matt, without any warning, pokes at the Yoka’s tattoos. The tattoos flash neon red in caution and Kasai pulls up a lip to show his fangs. A deep growl escapes those jaws.

Matt jumps back slightly, but only slightly. “What energy do the nanites run off?”

“Body lightning,” Kasai says, reluctantly lowering his lip back over his fangs. 

“Bioelectricity? That’s smart. What do you use the nanites for?” Matt puts his face closer to the tattoos, eying the markings carefully.

Kasai doesn’t spend long thinking about his answer. “Hitting stuff harder.” 

Matt just stares. “Of all the things you could do with nanites, you use it to ‘hit stuff harder’.”

Shiro shrugs. “I’m not surprised.”

“And I suppose the laws of physics haven’t occurred to either of you...” Matt mutters.

“What’s a physics?”

* * *

 

Icoci is clever, cunning in the art of convincing a member of a long since extinct ship series to accept all sorts of ship parts not made for it.

But sometimes, even ze needs a little help. 

Ze wipes zer fins clean on a rag, turning to a datapad. Luckily, they’re in port right now. A port with a decent connection. 

Icoci has zer pride, but unlike certain others aboard, ze is not too proud to ask for help. 

Ze taps at the datapad, searching the various forums until...aha, there they are.

**Notafish:** I require your assistance. @ **Rey_Kenobi**

Rey_Kenobi swiftly answers, which is good. Icoci needs to get  _ Starchaser  _ running, the sooner the better. 

**Rey_Kenobi:** another ship problem or programming?

**Notafish:** It is the ship again.

**Rey_Kenobi:** you should get a better ship.

Well, Icoci cannot really disagree with that. But  _ Starchaser _ , just like its crew, is stubborn and every time Icoci thought the old ship had given up, it sputters onward once more. Besides, they do not have the money reserves to get another ship that would operate better than  _ Starchaser. _

**Notafish:** The cooling and heating units have malfunctioned. What should I hook them up to? Please advise.

**Rey_Kenobi:** hold on. My friend’s better at engineering than me, gotta get him

There is a lull in the conversation, where Rey_Kenobi is hopefully retrieving their engineer friend. Icoci waits patiently, counting cracks in the ceiling as ze does.

One might wonder, what exactly was so important about the cooling and heating units. 

Fact: If one did not want to freeze to death in space, one need heat.

What about the cooling then?

Fact: Sometimes the heating unit gets too hot. 

Also fact: It needs a cooling unit or it will explode.

Conclusion: Without those two units, everyone would die. The end.

Icoci is more than a little eager to get everything fixed before the inevitable fleeing from the law begins, as always occurs on  _ Starchaser.  _

**Rey_Kenobi:** have you checked the wires?

**Notafish:** Wires are new and whole, connecting it correctly. 

**Rey_Kenobi:** the connectors?

Icoci checks. They’re worn through, and ze are sure that if they are replaced, the units will function properly. 

**Notafish:** I thank you.

**Rey_Kenobi:** no prb.

Icoci’s head fin twitches at the strange glyph on the screen that ‘rey kenobi’ closes with. It does not seem quite translated right...’prb’?  Ze taps the forum closed, returning to zer work of finding out what else needs to be repaired this trip. Ze always appreciate ‘rey kenobi’ for their assistance, never mind their strange handle. 

Icoci fiddles with the connectors and promptly puts all thoughts of ‘rey kenobi’ out of zer mind.

* * *

 

“You underestimate my power,” Matt says in a low voice, holding the staff in his hands out dramatically.

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Don’t try it, Matt.” He says the words with a straight face, but anyone could hear the smile in them. 

Matt spins his practice staff to tap at Shiro. The young man dodges the blow easily, almost dancing back out of the staff’s reach. “Gonna have to try harder than that.”

Matt grins, tapping the butt of his staff against the floor. “Best two of three?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Sparring with Matt is different than sparring with other paladins, Shiro reflects. For one thing, Matt’s taller, if only by a few inches, than the teenagers and has a melee weapon with more of a reach. Among the paladins, only Pidge’s grappling hook bayard could really compare.

Shiro rushes forward, ready to knock Matt over. He does, but Matt hooks his foot around Shiro’s leg and brings Shiro down with him. 

They hit the ground together, a tangle of arms and legs. Shiro is first to rise, gasping for breath and laughing at the same time. “You fight just as dirty as your sister,” he says fondly. 

Matt lifts himself onto his elbows. “You’ve fought my sister?” The confusion is clear in eyes. The question  _ When could you have done that _ hangs in the air between them. 

_ Uh oh _ . “Matt, I’m going to tell you something but you have to promise to try to keep it quiet...”

 

“MY SISTER IS  _ WHAT!?!?”  _

Kasai winces, pressing his ears against his skull. “Everyone else on this ship is too loud.”

Shar’s ears are straight, but stiff enough to reveal her attempted concealment of her amusement as she carefully does not look up, wrapping a bandage around Kasai’s forearm. “Everyone  _ else, _ Kasai? Did I hear you correctly?”

Kasai growls, neck fur ruffled. “Shut up, Shar.”

Moth bursts into the medbay, arms waving wildly. “Did you hear, did you hear!”

“Calm down, Moth, and explain,” Shar says smoothly. 

Moth takes a deep breath before continuing. “Matt’s sister is a paladin of Voltron!”

Kasai groans, putting his head against the wall. “Another one?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed say that about the Defenders of the Universe,” Shar notes. 

“Whatever.”

 

Matt’s dropped his staff at this point and is now pacing back and forth. “You’re telling me, that my baby sister isn’t safe on Earth, but is instead wandering space in metal lion, fighting the Galra.”

“Yes.” 

“Why did you ever think that was a good idea?”

Shiro breathes in and out, slowly. “Matt, on Earth, when she was hunting for you and the Commander...she was intercepting Galra communications. She was already in danger.”

It’s something he’s been considering, ever since Pidge told him a bit more about her search for the truth behind the Kerberos mission. If Pidge had been receiving Galra chatter about Voltron, then the Empire had been drawing nearer and nearer to Earth. Taking the Blue Lion and leaving had been the best option at the time, had drawn their attention away, even if it meant taking four teenagers out into space. But the Galra would be back and Earth at risk once more. 

Shiro hates the thought of it, that the home he’s left behind is in danger. That his team has to face death, fight a war, do dangerous things that someone their ages shouldn’t have to. His metal arm feels heavy, heavier than usual, just thinking about it. 

“Think of this way, Matt. At least she’s got a giant robot lion to protect her.”

Matt nods at that, a little hesitant. “...I guess that’s better than nothing.” He smiles suddenly, taking Shiro by surprise. “And she’s got you, doesn’t she? Thanks, Shiro. For watching my baby sis when I couldn’t.”

“It’s the least I can do after a-”

Matt shakes his head. “Shiro, just take my thank you. Just take it.”

“Alright then.” Shiro smiles slightly and Matt grins back. 

“Now, let’s go kick some Galra butt. Gotta teach ‘em that you don’t mess with a Holt.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Starchaser Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10728006) by [Beastrage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beastrage/pseuds/Beastrage)




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